


Please Don't Call Him 'Winter' (He was as Warm as the Sun)

by InfluentialPineapple



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Bucky Barnes Feels, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gags, Helpful Tony Stark, Humiliation, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Nightmares, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Poor Bucky Barnes, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Protective Tony Stark, Smut, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers-centric, Sub Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, War, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 16:04:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10947945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfluentialPineapple/pseuds/InfluentialPineapple
Summary: War is a desperate time. Soldiers do desperate things. Including, but not limited to, sharing their sleeping bags to stay warm during miserably cold nights. It happens all the time, right? No shame here, just good old-fashioned survival. Not weird at all.Steve can't say the same about the erection he keeps getting with his dearest friend laying right next to him.





	Please Don't Call Him 'Winter' (He was as Warm as the Sun)

It’s so damn cold that night.

Captain Rogers shivers in his sleeping bag, the thick material not nearly thick enough to keep his body heat in and the piercing cold out. It doesn’t help that he sacrificed three of its six layers to some of the more vulnerable members of his little task force, because the cold hasn’t let up at all since they got there. Morale is taking a nose dive, along with their ability to sleep. He had to do something. They tried to resist, but he assured them he’d be just fine. This is like a vacation in the Bahamas to his enhanced self.

Not really.

They’ve been watching the same Hydra base for three days now, spying diligently from atop a ragged cliff, anticipating the arrival of a high value target. No fires are allowed. Their meals include small rations of nearly frozen bread, corn beef and spam. Water is acquired by collecting snow in their canteens and placing them inside their sleeping bags at night. Steve doubts his will melt by morning.

The wind consists of thousands of tiny razors, ripping up over the lip of the cliff, battering the hooch he’s fabricated out of a poncho and some rope, set at an angle against it. Though he can’t feel it, the winds vicious howl sends tremors through him, freezes him deeper, stirs his concern for his team. He can’t sleep like this. Steve’s teeth chatter, and he clings to himself, miserable, breath tufting out in little, vaporous huffs. Not a single regret exists here. This is just part of it.

Then there’s movement around him, and someone is pulling at his bag, and dammit, who the hell is that? Why did he not hear them coming? Extracting his knife, he winds himself tense like a spring.

“Hey, just me,” Bucky’s familiar huffing voice next to him, and Steve deflates, his kill instinct retreating.

“You can’t do that to me, Buck,” he hisses angrily, unzipping the bag just a bit so he can see what the hell Bucky is up to. “Go back to bed, you idiot.”

“Can’t with you over here making all that racket,” Bucky teases in hushed tones, and smiles widely at Steve, a handsome face covered with dark stubble, illuminated in the moonlight, before snatching the zipper from him and ripping the bag completely open. Steve growls at the unexpected rush of sub-zero temperature into his slightly warmer space, cringes deeper into himself. It steals the breath from his lungs, stings them when he inhales. All he’s wearing are underclothes and socks in a folly attempt to create a warm internal environment in his bag. It worked at first, but it only got colder as the night progressed.

“Bucky, what the hell-“

“Hush, don’t make it weird, Steve, you always make stuff weird,” Bucky says, and Steve can see him fiddling with the bag at his feet, notices the second one he must have brought over with him. Is he… is he _combining_ them? Steve remains silent, save for his soft grunts as he trembles with painful cold, maybe hoping that something amazing will happen. Bucky prods him to roll a little bit and he does, allowing his friend to put more layers around him, to shift the bags so they’re even. One final zip and Steve’s lying in a bag spacious enough for three men. “Scoot over, big guy, I’m coming in hot like a bomber.”

“Um, okay,” Steve says uncertainly, thankful for the night because his cheeks are positively on fire as Bucky slides in next to him. The uniform Bucky has on is frozen stiff from being out in the elements, and Steve moans when it makes contact with his flesh, jerks away from the unpleasantness.

“I know, sorry, sorry,” Bucky mutters, and Steve feels him begin the process of removing his clothes _right next to him_ in the pitch black, moving and sliding around, and _touching_ Steve as he does so. Maybe it’s an accident, maybe it’s not, Steve doesn’t really care, finds it too pleasing to complain about it either way. The skin beneath Bucky’s clothes is so warm and even the slightest touch spreads a penetrating heat all the way through him. And the sounds he’s making as he strips; tiny huffs and grunts and little sighs, all of it magnified by the blindness… it’s doing something to Steve. What the hell is going on?

“Make yourself at home,” Steve says awkwardly, rolling slightly away from Bucky. There’s immense heat in one area of his body, indicative of the impending arrival of something extremely inappropriate, and he certainly doesn’t want to be caught with _that_ , like this, with Bucky so close. Not that he would be able to explain himself very coherently, his own confusion surrounding this strange event, completely unanalyzed. He has a full-fledged erection with his best friend laying right next to him, what is that?

“Didn’t mean to barge in,” Bucky says, panting lightly, and wow, that sounds nice too, “it’s just… it gets to a point where pride isn’t worth it anymore.”

“There’s no room for pride here,” Steve agrees, appreciating the fact that it’s probably already ten degrees warmer in there simply because of Bucky’s presence.

“Nothing to be proud of in war,” Bucky muses with a yawn, turning away from Steve so their backs touch. Steve just smiles, has nothing left to say as they lay there. Their silence is comfortable. Steve scoots a tad closer to him, shares his warmth, and Bucky sighs. Minutes later, Bucky’s snoring lightly, and Steve is falling into the first sleep he’s had in three days.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It’s snowing again.

Steve clutches his field jacket around him, shakes off the thick, wet fluff accumulating atop his head. The western watch point is higher up the mountain, quite a hike away from camp, and it was Steve’s turn to take it that day. He hates it. It’s colder, windier, snowier than where they’re staying, and Steve’s feet feel like a couple of boot-shaped ice blocks, hands throbbing within three pairs of gloves. Thankfully, his shift is almost over, and he can go back to... what? More cold? He’s been shivering for four days. Never would he complain out loud about it.

They’re running this thing by twos; Dugan and Jones take the night shift, Steve and Bucky take day. The rest of the commandos stayed back, acting as a reaction force, and will replace Steve’s team in ten days should the target decide not to appear before then. These conditions are too extreme for normal people to stay out there much longer than that, and they'll need immediate replacements should one of them fall out.  

Intelligence gathered for this mission was vague, offering a rather gracious time span for this particularly elusive person to show his face. Once he does, they only have a matter of hours before he leaves and disappears back into Hydra’s vast network. The target is an Inspector, knows everything about Hydra’s operations, visits probably three facilities a day, reports directly to Red Skull. One could say he ‘gets around’. Hydra guards him like he’s the POTUS.

A sharp burst of wind cuts deep into his bones, and all Steve thinks about is Bucky’s warm skin as he braces against it. His heart jumps, his stomach flips, he feels sick and scared and excited all at the same time. _Bucky._ It’s familiar, this feeling. It’s the same feeling he experienced when Bucky kicked that guy’s ass in the ally that day. Showed up in his dress uniform and just nailed that guy so damn hard that he scampered, whimpering like a struck puppy. And before that, in the eighth grade, when that kid and his friend were ambushing Steve right behind his apartment building and beating the snot out of him almost daily. Bucky showed up with him one night and whupped them both. Steve loved watching it. Goodness, did Steve love watching it. They never came back for an encore performance.

Before last night, Steve has never given that feeling much thought, attributed it to a simple love for his friend and his willingness to stick up for him, which is completely normal. Now, the feeling is back, it’s there, but it’s… different. It’s all heat and pleasure, and, well, feelings he can’t even identify. It’s _mature._ Older, somehow. Before, he wouldn’t give it purchase for what it was. Now, he admits, it may be legitimate attraction. Not just love, but physical attraction.

The others can never know. Bucky can never know.

He wonders if Bucky is thinking about him, too.

Dugan shows up about an hour later, smiles at him, asks him what level of Hell he sat in today, and Steve chuckles ruefully. As he heads back to camp, all he can think about is how badly he wants Bucky to join him in his sleeping bag again tonight.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

Corn beef hash is on the menu, and it’s a welcome change from spam. Steve eats it cold, half-listens to Bucky talk about a baseball game his father took him to while they sit cross-legged beneath Steve’s hooch. Eventually, he’s just sitting there with his cheek resting on his fist, admiring Bucky’s face, his stony eyes forged in the molten fires of war and torture. His chiseled jaw covered in dark stubble, the way the tendons in his neck move fluidly when he speaks, the glint of white teeth as he recalls something humorous. Everything else around Steve is a humming void. All he sees is Bucky. Geez, it’s becoming a problem. Steve looks away, focuses on a snow bank. He has a mission, he must remember that.

“I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable last night,” Bucky says, raising a tin cup full of cold coffee he mixed from a powder, to his lips, “you just sounded so cold. And I was cold, too, and why should be both be cold, you know?” He takes a drink of it, and Steve can’t help but appreciate the way Bucky’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as the liquid passes it.

“I _am_ tired of being cold,” Steve says, smiling and nodding, “nothing at all wrong with two soldiers trying to stay warm. I think we deserve it, judgment free.”

“I think so too, dammit,” Bucky says, slamming his fist lightly on his knee in mock outrage, “two grown men should be able to huddle together for warmth with no questions asked!”

“Absolutely,” Steve says, his groin heating up again as he thinks about it, about the warmth Bucky brings him every day. Bucky smirks at him.

That night, Bucky climbs into the sack with Steve, no questions asked.

“You stink, pal,” Steve says playfully, and Bucky scoffs.

“You don’t exactly s-smell like duh-daisies yourself, cowboy,” Bucky stammers, and shivers violently, groaning his discomfort. It’s colder that night, it seems. It didn’t keep Steve from posting up as soon as Bucky’s back touched his, however, hot with the contact. He sports a rather large, throbbing erection already, and he’s completely turned opposite of Bucky, confident he’ll just die if Bucky ever discovers it.

“Well, I work for a living,” Steve says, curling a little around his embarrassment, willing Bucky to stay the hell over there.

“G-Goodnight, Steve,” Bucky shivers.

“Night, Buck,” Steve replies, relieved that Bucky once again missed his shameful moment.

“Shit, too cold, sorry pal, I’m gonna hug ya.” And then in one horrific second, Bucky’s moving, and before Steve can stop him, he’s pressing his trembling form up against Steve’s back, draping an arm over him. Steve freezes, not in the sense that he’s cold, which he is, but from fear and pulsing arousal. To his absolute mortification, Bucky’s arm moves, brushes him and his shame, and Steve shrivels up inside when his friend expels a breath in a huffy laugh of disbelief.

“Do you- are you… Steve?”

Steve is stock still, stiff as his dick is hard. He’s never been so scared in his life. “I’m sorry, I- I’m, I don’t know what’s going on, I’m stressed out, I’m sleep deprived-“

“Is it, uh… is it because of _me_?” Bucky murmurs, and something lands softly on Steve’s hip. Bucky’s hand. He sounds hopeful, too. What?

This can’t be happening. He’s known Bucky his whole life. “I mean… I don’t know.” Steve whispers, knowing whatever happens next could either ruin their relationship, or send it rocketing into the stars.

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m a hunk, I understand,” Bucky shushes him, and _kisses his shoulder,_ setting it aflame _._ “This good?”

This is… unexpectedly pleasant. Steve moans quietly, and it’s an escaped little thing, just loud enough to tell Bucky that yes, he _wants him,_ without having to speak the words. Apparently encouraged, Bucky grunts and continues, trailing little flowering kisses all along Steve’s shoulder and neck.

“Buck…” Steve’s moving with it, not sure what to do, but willing to follow Bucky’s lead, because he hasn’t lead him astray so far. He presses back against Bucky, and though the man is slightly smaller and weaker than Steve is, feels that he is completely in control of this. Not like Steve knows what to do. It sets a little pleasure bomb off in his abdomen. “Mmm…”

“Oh, Steve,” Bucky moans, panting, grabbing Steve around the waist, pulling him closer to him, kissing his ear now, _licking it_ , and Steve exhales sharply as goosebumps cover his body. “You ever done anything like this before?”

It’s a breathless, lustful question, and the thought of what those words suggest leaves Steve in a haze. “No,” he huffs, and Bucky’s hand feathers lightly over his abs, dipping down just low enough to poke beneath the waistband of his briefs, brushing lightly against the base of his- “Oh!” Steve ruts up a little, grunting with the want of it. The need for it. For something other than relentless human misery. Something intimate.

“Wow,” Bucky breathes, and pulls back, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, moving and rubbing against Bucky, feeling the other man’s erection and so aroused over it, he can barely handle it. It’s so cold outside, yet he’s sweating with the heat of this.

“Can I…?” Bucky requests, barely touching Steve’s groin through his underwear, kissing the sensitive spot just behind his ear, and how could Steve deny him? In this frozen hell, Bucky is as pure, as warm, and as needed as the sun.

“Please, yes, anything,” Steve begs, and Bucky presses against him with a wanting groan, forcing his hand and arm beneath Steve’s neck so he can hold him closer. The other hand runs fingers along Steve’s member through the fabric confining it, right up to the head and all around, and Steve moans, bites his lip against something louder.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Bucky assures him in a husky voice, and Steve is infinitely thankful for the darkness as Bucky’s hand travels slowly beneath the band of his underwear, wraps gently around the straining length. The direct contact forces a small whine from Steve, and here, in this extra-large sleeping bag, with his most cherished friend… It’s the best he’s felt in months. War is a weary thing. “This is huge, Steve. Lucky guy.”

An insistent tugging at his drawers tells Steve he needs to remove them. Gladly, with Bucky’s help, he pushes the fabric down to his knees, releasing his throbbing erection. “Good,” Bucky huffs in his ear, right hand clutching Steve’s chest, kneading it pleasingly, tracing the outlines of his pecs, ghosting over his nipples. Steve gasps, flinches from the tease. The left hand travels up Steve’s body, two fingers caressing his throat, his jawline, before roving up to his chin and finally, his lips.

“Shh, that’s it. I need something from you.” Bucky’s fingers part Steve’s lips gently, and Steve opens his mouth with a small whine, completely unaware that he would ever enjoy anything even remotely similar to this until now. The searching digits are a welcome, bulky intrusion between Steve’s jaws, and he moans around them, allowing Bucky to caress his tongue, the inside of his cheeks, to move them back further into his throat and make him cough and gag a little on them. And it’s _good,_ it feels so good _._ Bucky pulls his fingers back. “Okay?” he murmurs in Steve’s ear.

Steve nods with a sharp exhale, takes Bucky’s arm by the wrist and kisses his fingers, licks them. That’s what he’s supposed to do, right? It feels right, and Bucky moans with it too, so it must be.

“Damn, so hot, Steve, who could have guessed that?”

Steve doesn’t know what to say, if he’s supposed to say anything at all. Can’t really articulate around Bucky’s three fingers when he shoves them back in, but that’s fine.

Bucky moves them in and out of Steve’s mouth, sometimes pressing back into his sensitive throat, and voicing his approval when Steve gags on them. Drooling and gasping, Steve always pulls away with a whine, before wanting more, demonstrating so by licking Bucky’s knuckles. His eyes water deliciously, his right cheek and chin are wet, the slight pain of it is exhilarating. Bucky is in complete control of him. Then, they’re gone, and Steve grits his teeth against a loud cry when he feels Bucky’s saliva-coated hand wrap around him.

“Shush, don’t make me stuff a sock in there,” Bucky whispers, hot breath caressing Steve’s cheek and Steve doesn’t mind the sound of that either, honestly, as long as it’s a clean sock. What in the world is going on with him? “We’re still in the field, Stevie.”

Oh, he knows. And in the worst type of danger imaginable. At any moment, they could be discovered, and a mortar sent from the base below could annihilate them in the blink of an eye. But it’s a fear he experiences more days than not, so in all this chaos and uncertainty, why not take a moment for himself? He already sacrifices so much, oversees such a huge campaign against Hydra that it threatens to overwhelm him sometimes. It’s a continuous struggle, dealing with the power he holds. God would forgive him, maybe even understand.

“Relax, sweetheart,” Bucky says, and he does, tension seeping from him with each tantalizingly slow stroke Bucky makes along his shaft. Steve reaches back, places his hand on Bucky’s thigh, pulls him against him. “Mmm, come here.” Bucky apparently interprets it as an invitation to throw his leg over Steve’s, and he does so, pulling it away from the other, rolling Steve sort of half onto him with his legs spread, holding him there. Steve groans. In a way, it’s liberating, and his mind threatens to float off into the moon-drenched night. Gravity fails him. He’s Bucky’s now.

More lubrication is needed, and Bucky retrieves it from Steve’s mouth, holding Steve’s head back with his right hand, and probing his throat with his left. “Good,” Bucky moans as Steve takes his fingers, his own hands lying at his sides uselessly. “So good, Steve. God, I wish I could see you right now.” Steve moans his pleasure, coughs and gags around the fingers, sucks on them greedily. It’s intimate and slightly humiliating, and unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. Yet, it’s still the weirdest thing he’s ever done, and Steve doesn’t even know why he likes it, just adores the fact that he trusts Bucky enough to do this to him.

It brings him down to a level he hasn’t existed at since back when he weighed ninety pounds, when Bucky was the towering hunk of muscle, instead of him. Nothing matters right now; nobody’s screaming, nobody’s bleeding out, or searching through crud and bodies for their own limbs, or crying for their mother. He’s not obligated to save anyone, or comfort anyone. He doesn’t have to keep track of a mission. He doesn’t have to kill. It is just him, his best friend, and an intimate moment, caught out there in a snowy hell. And they both deserve to have it.

Bucky removes his fingers from Steve’s mouth and goes back to stroking him with renewed slickness, going so slow, and maybe he knows Steve is right on the edge already. No one’s ever touched him like this before. Pleasure crackles through him. A hand clasps over his mouth. “Dial it down.”

“Mmmph,” Steve says, because he didn’t realize he was making any noise at all.

Bucky is a lot stronger than he expected him to be. Still no match for Steve, but he’s stronger than he _should_ be for a normal guy. A struggle would be involved if Steve wanted to free his mouth right now, it’s just… he doesn’t want to, does he? Instead, he allows Bucky to muffle his gasps and moans as he spills his seed all over his friend’s hand, in total euphoria over his lack of control.  

“Wow, good boy, Steve,” Bucky coos, and Steve just lays there against him, panting, and jerking with a whine through his nose when Bucky teases the hyper-sensitive head while he pulls the rest of Steve’s cum off it. “I don’t have anything to wipe this on. I think you should clean me up, after all that trouble I went through.”

Steve doesn’t have anything either, doesn’t know what Bucky is even talking about. And then the hand over his mouth is moving. Fingers prod his lips, and Steve immediately opens wide with a moan, totally okay with having been trained to do it just now. Bucky holds his jaw and Steve registers something slick and salty on the digits that press into him this time. His own seamen.   

“Hurk-” He twists away, gags, the thought not pleasant… at first. But Bucky holds him, wraps his legs around Steve’s and though Steve could overpower him if he wants, he feels stayed all the same, calms down instantly. Spread out like he is, held down from behind, he’s willing to try whatever Bucky wants him to.  

“Damn Steve, it’s okay, it’s just _you_ ,” Bucky teases with a chuckle. “Plus, you have a gorgeous mouth, I like rooting around in there. Open up.”

Breathing heavily, already sporting another tight erection resulting from Bucky’s stern command and authoritative persistence, Steve opens his mouth, and allows Bucky to wipe it all on his tongue. He swallows it down and coughs at the slight sour tang it leaves.

“Geez,” Steve pants, resting his head back on Bucky’s chest, absolutely drained in more ways than one, “maybe ask a guy out on a date first?”

Bucky laughs, gently rolls Steve back on his side for him and hugs him warmly, kissing his back. “We’re already on the longest date ever, sweetie,” He says, and Steve clutches Bucky’s arm to his chest, kisses his hand. Bucky is the one clean spot in a rusted, broken world, and Steve feels like he’s beginning to float off to somewhere pleasant in his arms.

“Guess so,” he sighs, content and relaxed. He can’t get drunk, but this is damn nice.

“Warm yet?” Bucky mutters, and Steve pushes his ass back into Bucky, hums happily at the closeness.

“With you, always.”

 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It’s warmer that evening, reaching approximately thirty-eight degrees. It didn’t start that way, however, and Steve sat for most of his shift in misery as usual, but around noon, the sun decided to make an appearance, warmed their area significantly. It feels like a heat wave to them.

“So, do you, uh, you know,” Bucky curls his fingers and makes an up-and-down motion with his hand, raising his eyebrows suggestively. He’s sitting on a log, eating spam and bread, Steve, on another opposite him, just a little dining area they’ve set up off in the forest. Out of ear-shot of the others.

It’s dinner time, day five. Hours of sitting alone at their respective checkpoints, getting beaten silly by relentless wind and biting snow, have loosened their tongues.

Steve scoffs, chews his spam and swallows raggedly. Day five of spam, too. Ugh. “What, masturbate? Sure. Who doesn’t?” he says with a shrug.

“I figured _you_ ‘doesn’t’, you know, before _that_ ,” Bucky says, smirking, and Steve notices his cheeks growing a little red, even in the frozen air. Maybe he’s picturing it, Steve thinks with a twang of excitement.

“Then you don’t know me very well,” Steve says, finishing his mockery of a dinner, disposing of the container in the trash hole nearby. A growl erupts from his stomach. It’s never enough.

“Know you? Pretty sure a question like that would have been weird prior to last night,” Bucky says, cutting spam out and eating it over stale bread. It’s small, always gone too quickly, and Steve knows Bucky is just as hungry as he is.

“Still a pretty weird question, Buck,” Steve points out with a warm smile, and Bucky sniggers as he chews, swallows, grimaces.

“I’ll tell you what, after that, there _are_ no weird questions,” he says with a huff and a disbelieving shake of his head, and Steve realizes then that Bucky must have been as shocked and scared and uncertain as Steve felt at first. “You _did_ like that, though, right? I mean, you can tell me to stop, you know, if you don’t want that, I won't do it again.”

Steve glances over at Bucky, and finds him using a stick to draw little circles in the snow, pointedly avoiding his gaze. With a sigh, he looks around for others, finds they’re totally alone out there. So, he gets up, heads over to Bucky and kneels in the snow between the other man’s legs, peers up at him suggestively. The position is embarrassing, but that’s the point, isn’t it? To be humbled, to scale his power back a bit. He's chasing the euphoria of it, like an alcoholic chases liquor. It feels good down here, free of responsibility. Steve’s already becoming aroused. The fact that he’s wearing his uniform, sans the cowl, adds an extra little spice to this crazy sex gumbo he’s wandered into.

Bucky regards him with fearful apprehension. The more he looks at Steve though, kneeling between his legs like a dirtied servant, the softer and more lustful his expression becomes. “Fuck,” he spits, eyes darting all over Steve’s face, his body, the muscles that bulge beneath his uniform. “Dammit, Steve. Now that I can see you, you’re too good looking.”

“Irresistible,” Steve agrees, eyelids dipping low as he gazes up at Bucky. “That’s the one I hear most often.”

Seemingly unable to keep his hands to himself any longer, Bucky reaches up with a possessive gleam in his eye and runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, mussing it, cups his face where his stubble is forming into a thin beard. “Do you trust me?” he asks of Steve, encouraging his head up so he can see him.

“Of course,” Steve breathes, but gasps, hisses in pain when Bucky unexpectedly twists his fist in his hair and yanks Steve’s head down so his cheek is resting on one of his muscular thighs.

“Of course, _what_?” Bucky demands sternly.

“Of course, _sir_ ,” Steve corrects himself desperately, panting, hot with pleasure over this new development. Right here, he belongs _right here_. His face is so close to Bucky’s groin.

“Jesus,” Bucky hisses above him, sounds thrilled and shocked at Steve’s willingness to obey him. Something tells Steve not to speak unless spoken to. It’s damn exciting. “Put your hands behind your back, let me see.”

“Yes, sir.” Without hesitation, Steve obeys, gripping his right wrist back there and holding tight. He’s exposed like this, kneeling in the snow, bent over, knees spread apart to accommodate the position. Blue eyes peer up from where he lies on Bucky’s thigh as he waits impatiently for instructions. In his trousers, his erection throbs almost painfully.

“Wow,” Bucky whispers, seemingly awestruck by Steve. He loosens his grip in Steve’s hair and cards through it instead, caresses the side of his face. The soft touch is exquisite, but so was the stern one. He kind of wants to feel that again. Steve moans with ecstasy, loving all of it. “You’ve always been so willing to serve, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” Closing his eyes, he nuzzles into Bucky’s leg. The uniform the man’s wearing is disgusting, and Steve doesn’t mind. He’s not much better off himself. It’s just how things are.

“Good boy,” Bucky tells him. “Sit up for me, now. Stay on your knees.”

Swallowing anxiously, Steve lifts himself, sitting back on his calves, hands remaining clasped behind his back, the definition of compliance. Then Bucky stands, towering over him for the first time in forever, and Steve’s breath catches in his chest at the sight. Like old times.

“Look at you,” Bucky whispers, taking Steve under the chin, “the strongest man in the world, kneeling at my feet.” Heart pounding, Steve closes his eyes and opens his mouth when Bucky lightly touches his upper lip. “And you learn so fast.”

Then, Bucky takes advantage of his gaping mouth and kisses him.

The only other kiss Steve has ever received was forced on him by some idiot Private. It was uncomfortable, and flurried, and positively obnoxious, and Steve hated it. Now though, Bucky allows Steve to kiss back. It’s different, it’s all warmth and love and Bucky’s bad coffee breath, a scent Steve is starting to appreciate. Steve moans, gasps into Bucky’s mouth. The kiss is slow, searching, and Bucky is gentle and hesitant, even with Steve kneeling there as he is, hands behind his back, completely submissive to whatever Bucky wants from him. He could take it from him, if Bucky so pleased. But he doesn’t. He slowly introduces his tongue into Steve’s mouth, offers time for him to reject it, before exploring yearningly.  

“Oh, god,” Bucky gasps, breaking away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Steve just kneels there and breathes heavily, his chin cold with saliva, dick so hard he could probably cut diamond with it. He’s shivering with a mixture of humiliation and excitement. The snow sparkles in the twilight all around him, wind stilling, if just for now.

Bucky takes his face and pushes him against his hip. “I can’t believe how lucky I am,” he whispers, and Steve relishes being something small again, something that belongs to James Barnes from Brooklyn, not the United States of America. Here, he’s not the key to winning a world war. Stress leaks out of him.

“I want to do something to you,” Bucky says. If Steve could have it _his_ way, Bucky would get to do whatever he wants to him without asking at all.

“Yes, sir,” Steve replies, the easy answer programmed into him earlier. It spares him from having to think about much. It’s familiar.

Bucky sighs, takes Steve’s chin, points it up and shuffles his golden locks away from his forehead. Steve notes how very blue Bucky's eyes are. “Open up, Captain,” he whispers, brushing adamant fingertips against his lips.

With a moan, Steve opens his mouth wide for whatever Bucky has planned. Two long digits immediately slither down his throat, but he expects it, able to take it longer before gagging this time. “Good job,” Bucky says. He presses them back again. “Hold it.” Steve does, coughing and lasting five seconds before he needs to push away with a gasp so he can lean over and drool and spit. Bucky twists his hair, yanks his head a little. “Keep your hands behind your back, Steve.” He puts them back, panting heavily, brings himself up to hungrily accept Bucky’s digits again, entire body so warm despite the weather. It’s wonderfully challenging. It keeps his mind focused on his physical being, instead of letting it stumble off to the horrors of war.

If the desired effect of this is encouraging Steve to want something bigger in his mouth, then it’s working incredibly well. And by no means is he a dumb man, he knows what Bucky wants to do to him. Sure enough, the hand in his hair is gone and he hears Bucky undoing his belt. Steve whimpers with his longing, his need to return the favor from last night, to please Bucky in ways that no one else can.

“Open your eyes, look at me.” Steve cracks open watering eyes, gazes blearily up at Bucky, blushing deep scarlet when he finds the other man watching every little thing he’s doing with a dark lust. “Is this okay?” He pulls soppy fingers out to allow Steve to answer.

“Y-yes sir,” Steve gasps brokenly up at him, arms held behind him by nothing more than Bucky’s command.

“Are you sure?”

“God, _yes_ , Bucky,” Steve asserts in a breathy tone, before leaning forward and nuzzling into the spot that connects Bucky’s left thigh and groin. “This is amazing, this is…”

“This is highly taboo,” Bucky finishes for him, and Steve knows that. This can’t be how normal people do this. Not to even mention their shared gender. “You should know, Steve, this isn’t how it usually goes.

“I don’t care,” Steve mutters against Bucky’s leg, wants to stay right there forever. “I want it like this. I want _you_.”

“If anyone finds out, they’ll court martial us,” Bucky reminds him gloomily.

“Let them try,” Steve says.

“Mmm,” Bucky hums, stroking his face, “I like it when you get all righteous.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Steve assures him.

“Are you forgetting something?”

“You haven’t seen anything yet, _sir.”_ Steve is quick to correct himself as Bucky fists his hair.

“Well that’s a shame,” Bucky bemoans, pulling Steve’s head up, “because I want to see it all.”

“Yes sir,” Steve whispers, staring with wide eyes up at Bucky, at the man he’s always loved, even when he didn’t know it. He’s just as out of breath as Steve is, and with his eyes softened as they are for once, Steve can see right into the core of him. There’s so much good there, an infinite amount of love. Like peering into the star-lit night sky, Steve finds Bucky’s soul, vast and pure, alight with twinkling laughter, and yet, there’s so much power in him. Why didn’t he see him like this before? 

“Good boy,” Bucky murmurs, and unfastens his trousers, but only the fly. It’s too cold for much else. “You want to make me happy, don’t you?”

“Oh, god, yes sir.” There’s still a tight grip in his hair, forcing his face toward the sky, and Steve licks his lips, waits as still as possible.

“Woo, cold,” Bucky grunts as he exposes just enough of his erection to avoid the biting chill. Steve moans at the sight of it, wants it in his mouth more than anything. “Bring that warm mouth over here.” Bucky forces him to lean forward a little, and Steve opens wide like he’s been trained. “Grab my left ankle if you want me to stop.”

Then Bucky is guiding himself into Steve’s mouth slowly, gasping and grunting, and Steve accepts it with a groan. It’s heavier, smoother, wider than Bucky’s fingers, and somehow feels less chaotic. At times, it seems like Bucky’s fingers are everywhere, but this stays intact. It’s nice. Consistent. Steve can feel Bucky’s pulse in it. It tastes like strong male musk, days of not bathing, and that’s fine. It’s delicious. “Mmm,” Steve says, shutting his eyes and closing his lips around it.

“Whoa, hey,” Bucky hisses above him, “watch those teeth, you.”    

Steve pulls back to give a garbled “yes sir.”

“Make an ‘o’, sort of shield it with your lips,” Bucky instructs, combing his fingers through Steve’s hair. “Stay on it, Steve, I don’t want frostbite on my junk. That’s it, baby.”

There’s no time to wonder how Bucky knows about the specifics of sucking a man’s dick. That will come later. For now, Steve does what he’s told, creates a little ‘o’ with his lips and slides his face down Bucky’s shaft. “Oh, fuck,” Bucky curses, readjusts his footing to give Steve an easier time. It hits the back of his throat, and Steve coughs, allows saliva to dribble down his chin. He doesn’t dare bring his hands forward to wipe it off. “C’mon, suck it.” Bucky insists breathlessly, pushing Steve’s head gently, encouraging more from him.

It takes a few bad attempts, and Bucky’s coaching, to finally get Steve to hollow his cheeks and do it properly. Eventually, he’s able to maintain a pace going about three quarters of the way down on it, and Bucky is curling around him a bit, telling Steve how good he is, how amazing this feels for him. As if the words weren’t enough for Steve, Bucky’s moans and gasps are practically serenading him.

“All the way down,” Bucky demands, and Steve takes a few panting breaths that steam up around his face, before complying, pressing forward until his nose is buried in fabric and pubic hair. It fills the entirety of his throat, cuts off his air supply completely. “Hold it.” He gags on it, mouth flooding with saliva, and clenches his watering eyes. Bucky’s hand keeps his head there. “Good boy, Steve.” The next retch makes Steve’s body heave, and Bucky pulls back, leaving him to gasp and cough and drool, destroyed and humiliated in such a pleasant way. He moans with each ragged breath, tilts forward and spits, clears his abused throat.

“C’mere, open up,” Bucky grunts, pumping himself, and Steve whines with his own need as he pulls himself back up, parts his jaws for Bucky. A few more good strokes, and Bucky places the tip just atop Steve’s bottom lip, shooting into his mouth with a long groan. Steve kneels there, pants, watches Bucky’s straining face from within a fog, or a daze, or _something_. It’s pillowing him. He almost feels drugged. Torn apart, and instantly healed.

“Oh…” he moans softly when Bucky’s done, swallowing it, barely aware of doing it. His face is so wet.  

“Damn, Steve,” Bucky is saying from somewhere far off, and then soft material is touching his cheek. “It’s okay, you can relax now, doll-face. C’mon.” His arms are still behind him, and Steve releases his wrist, brings them forward slowly. The cloth is back, and Steve turns to find Bucky kneeling next to him, kissing his temple, and wiping all the mess from his chin and cheeks. “Can’t let it freeze there, hon.”

Steve sighs, leans into him, and Bucky holds him close to his chest. “Bucky…” he whispers, but doesn’t know what he wants from him. Just wants to say his name.

“Have I ever told you I love the way that uniform looks on you?” Bucky whispers, kissing his cheek.

Steve smiles and huffs a tiny laugh before burying his face in Bucky’s chest, happier and hornier than he’s ever been in his life.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

They hit the sack early that night, and they do it completely naked.

“On your stomach, Steve,” Bucky tells him once they're both within the safe confines of the sleeping bag. Steve’s already panting, already in that mode, hungover from their activities earlier.

“Yes sir.” He rolls himself, and feels Bucky flipping around so his head is near Steve’s feet.

“Get on your knees but keep them bent, and keep your chest against the ground.”

That’s exactly what he does, as quickly as possible, pulling his knees beneath him, staying low, and he finds he has to part his legs significantly to get down like Bucky requested. His ass is spread, exposed in this position, and his straining cock and balls dangle just above the sleeping bag material. He waits like that with bated breath, quivers with excitement.

Bucky’s searching hands find him in the dark, and Steve jumps, skin made sensitive by blind uncertainty. “God, I can’t wait to get back,” he whispers, running his hands up his left thigh, and Steve shudders. “I have plans for you, baby.”

“Tell me about it, please, sir?” Steve shares Bucky’s desire to get home, to experience exactly whatever heavenly activities Bucky has envisioned for him.

“Mmm, maybe later. If you're good.” Something very warm touches his balls, and he flinches forward with a gasp. “Come back here, you,” Bucky scolds, and then Steve feels immense pressure, and some mild, but delightful pain when Bucky grabs them and _pulls_.

“Ohhh, shit,” Steve, groans, sticking his ass back where Bucky has just, without a doubt, expressed he wants it.

“Quite the mouth on you, Steve,” Bucky Says, and Steve bites his lip, his balls stretched behind him, and he’s back as far as he can go. He growls quietly, clutches the sleeping bag beneath him, and stays very still. “I found a way to make you curse, how delightful.”

A soft wet sound, and then Steve whimpers pathetically when he feels something slick touch a place he never even considered for use outside one other thing.

“Whoa,” he says, and huffs a whine, experiences a thrill, because he can’t move. “Sir…”

“Hush,” Bucky instructs him, and continues anyway, runs his spit-slick finger tenderly down along the area between Steve’s hole and his ensnared balls, and Steve’s making sounds he’s never made before. Tiny whimpers, and startled little gasps escape him as he struggles to stay still, motivated by promised suffering, and the pleasure he is sure to receive should he be good for Bucky. Because nothing else matters now. He just wants to be good for Bucky.     

“Have you ever touched yourself right here, Steve?” Another delightful prod at his helpless opening, a slight pet, and Steve is wondering why he hasn’t yet.

“No, sir,” he grunts, then gasps with the pain of Bucky finally releasing his balls, moans with the pleasure of him choosing his dick to hold instead.  

“Do you trust me?”

“Ohhh, always sir,” Steve moans, and there’s a slight burn, like a match failing to spark, pressure, and so much tense pleasure, as Bucky slowly pushes his spit-slick digit into Steve.

“Relax, sweetie, just sort of fall into it, okay?” Bucky is whispering to him and Steve does, settles out of a tight resistance, grunting with the effort of it. But once he gets to a certain plane of being, one in which he feels as though he’s someone entirely separate from Steve Rogers, Bucky’s finger inside him becomes nothing but delight. “Good boy. Perfect.

There’s no way of telling how far inside him Bucky’s finger is, the sensation it’s triggering, completely foreign to Steve. And it’s difficult to concentrate on it fully when Bucky is running his fist along Steve’s length so agreeably. It’s all so smooth. Slick. So, so warm in the confines of their rigged sleeping bags. Their own little world, where Steve is nothing and Bucky is everything, oblivious to the misery all around them. It all swirls to life as a rising ball of heat deep in his groin.

“Bucky, I’m- I’m gonna-“ Steve grits out, tensing around everything, sweating and breathless.

“You’re gonna, what?” Bucky says in the dark behind him.

“I’m gonna- I’m, I don’t-“

“You’re gonna _come_?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” Steve moans, pumps his hips and… and _fucks_ Bucky’s hand, but suddenly there’s pain and loss and frantic want as Bucky stops _everything_. The whining, broken growl he stifles with the sleeping bag material is unlike any sound he’s ever made. “Why- what- what did I do-“

“I’ll tell you when you can come, Steve,” Bucky says, and Steve’s entire torso catches fire, it seems.

Bucky is moving around, and Steve shifts a little to stretch during the intermission. It’s short lived. Fingers brush his lips, and he lifts his head with a groan, opening his mouth for whatever Bucky wants. He doesn’t expect a wad of soft fabric to be stuffed in there, and coughs around it, but Bucky is laying on top of him in an instant, pinning him, holding it in there with his hand. Steve groans.

“You’re being too loud, this is your punishment.” A strip of more material is settled between his teeth and tied behind his head, securing the rest. Steve moans into it, and finds it’s nice, to have something there to smother the noise, liberating, even.

Bucky lifts himself off Steve, and returns to the position he was in before, with his head by his feet, or so Steve hopes. Sure enough, Bucky’s hands are back on his most intimate areas, one wrapped around his member, the other, pushing a slippery finger into his ass. The gag in his mouth provides an additional twanging thrill of humiliation and Steve loves it, moans into it gratefully.

“Good,” Bucky whispers, and pulls his finger out, pushes it back in, out, in, out. The drag of it is one of the most intense sensations Steve’s ever felt, and he shudders, chews his gag, does that awful thing to Bucky’s hand again. Too soon, he’s moaning his need to come, and Bucky lets go.

“No, please, keep going,” Steve says, but it comes out in a series of needy whines through his nose instead, the pain of it, intensifying from last time, traveling up his shaft and into his balls.

“Keep your hands to yourself up there,” Bucky reminds him, because Steve has started to reach for his throbbing dick, will get his own self off, dammit. With a frustrated growl, Steve returns them to lay uselessly on either side of his head. “This is all mine now. I’m completely in charge of your pleasure.”

Good, one less responsibility he’s got to worry about. Steve sinks into the feeling like a large stone into a mattress. “Please sir,” he begs, but it comes out sounding like two dumb grunts behind the gag.

Just a finger in his hole this time, probing, _fucking him,_ searching for something deep inside him, hooking down then- Steve starts forward with a surprised grunt, because Bucky hit something shocking in him.

“Ah, there it is,” Bucky says, and Steve rights himself as fast as possible, “did you feel that?”

“Mmmph,” Steve groans, a leg twitches when Bucky hits the same spot, rubbing it now, and it sends waves of electric heat through Steve’s pelvis, down into the tip of his dick.

“I want you to come like this,” Bucky says, and Steve wants to so bad, but it’s just not enough. So he whines, grips the bag, and Bucky seems to understand. The finger is removed, and Steve feels Bucky applying more saliva to him, gasping his want as he does. Two fingers come back.

Steve growls, loud even through the gag. They’re pushed in slowly, slick and so much pressure, finds whatever that was that felt so good inside him, and goads it spectacularly. Terrible pleasure rockets through him.

He comes without Bucky even touching his dick. With a loud moan, he unloads into Bucky’s waiting hand, hips jerking with the intense compression built up over the course of so many ruined orgasms. A rustling at the knot in his gag, and soon Steve is flexing his jaw, given just a moment to rest before Bucky is feeding him his own fluids again. “Good boy, Steve,” he whispers while he does it. Suddenly, Steve Rogers discovers he loves being fed his own cum.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

   

“Where did you learn that?” Steve wonders as they lay spooning together in the sanctuary of their sleeping bag, drained from… activities.

“Hmm?” Bucky mumbles behind him. Maybe he had been dozing off.

“All that stuff you’re doing, where you… you know… _dominate_ me, make me feel small,” Steve says, squeezing Bucky’s arm to perpetuate reassurance. Certainly, he doesn’t want Bucky to feel embarrassed about it. It’s extremely personal. “It’s a thing, obviously. Where did you learn it?”

Bucky hesitates for a long time. “Europe is a weird place, Stevie,” he finally whispers, and nibbles Steve’s ear, just because he can, Steve assumes. It triggers an episode of goosebumps all over him. “I used to know these French guys. They were attached to our company, translators for the Allies. They taught me all this stuff, introduced me to an entire new level of pleasure, made me feel so… detached from all this shit.”

“And you knew that’s what I needed,” Steve continues for him, kissing the man’s hand to fortify him, to shield him from any and all shame he could be feeling over the situation. It doesn’t matter what Bucky did to experience pleasure, when the circumstances he is constantly exposed to are so inherently predetermined to inflict massive pain. “Geez, Buck, that’s kind of hot, thinking about you like that, with two guys,” Steve whispers, and Bucky chuckles, wraps himself tighter around Steve.

“It was only the second time I ever did anything like that, I mean, with _men_ ,” Bucky continues, his forehead buried in Steve’s enormous back, “they asked me if I’d ever been tied up, and I’d never heard of that before, but I was drunk, and willing to try anything. I’d just watched… watched three men die…” Bucky trails of for a moment, and Steve waits patiently, nuzzles his arm, kisses it relentlessly, because he knows the trauma is even stronger, even more relentless. “So, I wanted something fucking crazy. I went with them into a room, and they tied my hands behind my back, and my feet together, and made me feel more helpless and desperate than I’ve ever felt in my life. I think I ended up doing six sessions with them, altogether. It really overshadowed a lot of other things for me. Just… nothing has ever felt as good… until I was doing it to you.”

Steve bristles, knows this is a very vulnerable moment for his friend- lover- brother-, or whatever he is, perhaps all of those things and more. All Steve knows is that Bucky is the one warm, soft thing in a cold, hard world. “It’s the most intense, pleasurable, loving thing I’ve ever experienced in my entire life,” Steve assures him, and Bucky chuckles. “I’m serious. I want it forever. I’m feeling you so intensely, Bucky, I swear, it’s like, being near you and hugging you isn’t enough, I… it’s like I want to _be_ you. I’ve never felt like this before.”

“Oh, Steve,” Bucky murmurs from behind him, and did he just sniffle a little?

They’re both exhausted, and Steve falls into a deep, restful slumber, wrapped in Bucky’s arms and feeling so safe, it’s unfair. Later, he’s woken up by frenzied movement and loud shuffling next to him.

“Wha- What is that?” someone moans. Bucky. "Stay away."

“Buck,” Steve whispers tiredly, rolling to face his friend.

“No!” Bucky shouts, frightening Steve something awful. “Please, I- I can give you my service number- “

“Bucky-“

“and my name and rank- ah!” he gasps, and cries out in imagined agony. Steve hugs him tight, because he’s struggling like he’s trying to get away from something. "Leave me alone!" 

“Bucky, please, calm down,” Steve is saying, holding him as still as possible. The man is so strong, Steve’s sure it’s not possible without some sort of enhancement, catalogs it for later.

“It hurts,” Bucky sobs, and Steve wishes he could trade places with him. When he found him in that Hydra facility, Steve knew what had happened, understood that Bucky had been tortured in some way, and Steve experienced an enormous swell of respect for his friend. As well as pity. He didn’t know it still affected him like this. They're all experienced actors.

“Shh, it’s okay, sweetie,” Steve says, and then Bucky jerks awake with a pained shout in his arms and Steve holds him close, enduring the shuddering and sobbing and grasping at his back and chest. Plants tender kisses in Bucky’s hair and breathes in the scent of it, and even though he smells a tad like wet dog, it’s alluring, encompassing. “Shh, it’s okay, you’re not there anymore,” Steve assures him, holds him tight, strokes his greasy hair. Bucky cries freely, and Steve feels as though he could not serve a greater purpose as he comforts him.

“Steve,” Bucky gasps, curling around Steve’s arms. “They put something in me, Steve, something blue. It hurt so bad. It felt like it was ripping me up and _changing_ me, and- and I have no idea what it was, or what it d-did to me, they only spoke German-”

“It’s okay,” Steve assures him, strokes his sweaty, twitching forehead, kisses it. They’ll find out later, he’ll talk to Howard, sort it all out when the war calmed down a bit, and they weren’t government property. “I still love you. We’ll figure it out.”

They never really do figure it out. Bucky, the sun in Steve’s dark world, is devoured by a howling ravine after falling from a train two weeks later. And it’s all Steve’s fault. He’s never felt so lost in his entire life, reaching desperate, searching arms into a black miasma, rank with burning flesh and horrified screams, that would have previously been illuminated by Bucky’s bright light, and grasping at nothing but misery every time. When he goes into the ice, he accepts it as something positive, like a well-deserved nap.

 

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

Steve awakens with a loud shout, sitting straight up, panting desperately and wondering where the hell he’s even at for a moment. Gasping, he goes through the reps like he’s learned to do, reminds himself of a few simple grounding facts he holds so dear; it’s the year 2014. He resides at 200 Park Avenue, in Manhattan. He belongs to an elite task force known as the Avengers. They’re looking for a very powerful artifact once belonging to the Asgardian god, Loki. His teammates are Tony, Bruce, Natasha, Clint and Thor, though Bruce and Thor stayed back for this mission.

And Tony, who is sitting mere feet away from Steve on top of his sleeping bag, is staring at him with wide eyes, a spoonful of beans half raised to his lips. Shoot. Busted.

“Gotta look at me like that?” Steve grouses, wiping his face, and he’s been crying again, dammit. How mortifying. Why is Stark even up? He’s got a shift to cover in the morning, watching for their target; a convoy carrying the scepter, or so an informant claims.

“Like what? With concern?” Tony says, and it’s soft, not defensive at all, like Steve had been. They’re alone, concealed within a ring of thick brush. Clint and Nat sit poised on the other side of the road they’re watching, almost a half mile away. Tony’s armor waits high above them in stealth, ready to notify them of any approaching lifeforms. “I can’t look at you after you scare the living shit out of me like that?”

“Sorry, I just…” Steve begins, but sighs, lays back down, drapes an arm over his eyes. His sleeping bag and the hard ground beneath it are more welcoming than any bed. “Why are you up?”

“You think you’re the only one who has nightmares, Cap?” Tony asks with a shallow voice. Blue eyes swivel over to lock with deeply haunted brown ones, and Steve finds a vulnerability there he’s never seen before. Yet, Tony still smiles at him. “I’m here, if you want to talk, no pressure.” There’s a small shrug, the spoon full of beans finally makes it to his mouth. Tony looks away as he chews, focuses on a small hologram being projected by his phone, a schematic for some amazing new gadget, no doubt. The man is always working, always improving the team, cares so much about them and their safety.

At least it’s warm that night in Switzerland.

“I saw Bucky fall again,” Steve relents, and Tony’s meeting his gaze then, intense and warm. It’s encouraging. “He reached out to me, Tony, as he fell. He expected me to catch him. And I, uh… I didn’t.” A shudder wracks him, the ghost of a chill he felt so long ago. He hides his face in his hands. “I didn’t. It’s my fault. Everything that’s happened, all the misery he’s caused, it’s my fault. All of it. I should have helped him sooner.” _He killed your parents, Tony and it’s my fault, too. Please, try to understand._ Steve is terrified. “I gotta find him, Tony.”

“Sam making any headway?” Tony asks, setting his pouch of beans down, devoting all his attention to Steve’s problem, because that’s what Tony Stark does; fixes things, solves problems.

“Not really,” Steve sighs, wraps his arms around his chest, holds himself close in lieu of someone else, a man whose hair is significantly longer now. “There’s whispers here and there, but they’re so vague. Bucky might as well be a ghost.”

“Well, hey, keep that big, thick chin up, I have feelers out too, okay? Nothing gets past me,” Tony says, and Steve looks at him with incredulity, finds a smirk on his face. “ _Of course_ I’ve been looking for him, Rogers, give me _some_ credit, c’mon. And you’ll be the first to know when I find him. What does Sam need? Anything? Money, secure lodging, transportation, weapons, access to S.I.’s servers? Does he need anything at all? What can I do?”

“Tony, I…” Steve looks away from Tony’s open, eager face and chews his lip. Sam needs better funds, sure, but it’s such a complicated thing, and Steve doesn’t want to take any more from Tony than he already has. He lives in Tony’s luxurious building, uses Tony’s tech, his resources, gets whatever he needs or wants with Tony’s money. They all do. Yet, he can’t even bring himself to tell the man the truth. He will, eventually, because Tony deserves to know. But the whole thing is still so raw for Steve, like a gushing wound, and it threatens to bleed out. Seeing Bucky being used in that capacity, to kill and hurt people, when Steve only knew the rejuvenating warmth he used to possess within his very soul, was paralyzing. Steve hates it when they call him ‘winter’, because Bucky was the sun in Steve’s cold world.

There’s just no way he can tell Tony yet. Every time he thinks of it, it makes him physically ill.

It will come in time. When they find him, Steve will sit Tony down and tell him everything.

He will.

Tony deserves to know.

“Don’t be shy, Cap, please. Whatever you need, I’ll make it happen,” Tony reassures him with high eyebrows and a bright smile, “I don’t know what I’d do if Pepper went missing- oh wait, yes, I do. I’d do _anything._ Kill anyone. Torture every unfortunate mother fucker that had the displeasure of crossing my warpath until I found her.”

“Geez, Tony,” Steve says with a tiny huff of laughter at the passion in the man’s voice.

“Hey, love is a powerful motivator,” Tony says, and smirks that damn smug smirk of his.

Steve’s entire world stands still, and an ocean pounds in his ears. He sits up, turns to face the other man, bristles like a threatened cactus. “What did you say?” he whispers, glaring defensively over at Tony, absolutely dumbfounded as to how exactly he figured that out. Did Howard know? Was there a picture or something that Tony dug up?  _Has he known this whole time?_

“Hmm? Oh, ‘love is a powerful motivator?’” Tony repeats, and chuckles brightly at the sight of Steve’s very apparent fear. “You thought I didn’t know? Really? The way your eyes gloss over when you talk about him, I just wasn’t supposed to notice?”

“Well… yeah,” Steve says, quite embarrassed, and Tony scoffs.

“You’re bad at that, Steve.”

“At what?”

“Hiding your emotions,” Tony says, then grimaces apologetically at Steve’s glower. Body language speaks more powerfully for Tony than his mouth, sometimes. “Should learn from an expert in emotional suppression, a.k.a., me.”

“I’ve never told anyone about that, Tony,” Steve says, hiding his face in trembling hands.

“You never even had to say a word, it’s written all over you,” Tony says with a shrug.

“Does anyone else know?” Steve’s face is likely to melt right off of him, the way it’s burning.

“You know, I’m not entirely sure,” Tony says, pulling a knee up and hugging it, resting his chin on it. It’s easy to forget how human Tony is sometimes, with his larger-than-life approach to everything, and Steve enjoys seeing him like this; as a man who doesn’t have to hide anything, if just for a moment. As someone who can relax for once. “I haven’t asked about it, in case they’re all woefully unequipped to recognize when someone is head-over-heels for another person, and haven’t figured it out like I have. I don’t want to go spreading rumors, Cap, they can ask you if they’re curious. It’s none of their business anyway, it’s really none of _my_ business.”

Well that’s awfully considerate of him. “You don’t think it’s… you know…” Steve cringes, “ _weird._ ”

“You going senile on me old man?” Tony wants to know, and Steve honestly wonders if he is sometimes, “Look at who you’re talking to, brother, you think a little gay love scares _me_ away? Psh.”

“I come from a different time, Tony,” Steve reminds him, and Tony gives him an expression which says ‘that’s for sure’, “attitudes about that were way different back then. The fear of being... _found out_ , it kinda stays with a guy.”

“I don’t imagine the Army would have been too thrilled about it either,” Tony says, and Steve huffs an ironic chuckle at that.

“No, they wouldn’t have,” he says sadly.

_“If anyone finds out, they'll court martial us.”_

_“Let them try.”_

And in that moment, Steve longs for Bucky more than he has in a long while. Tears shine in soft blue eyes, threaten spillage at the smallest blink. Bucky is missing out on so much. They both are. They’ve been propelled forward into a time where their love is not only allowed, but accepted, and Steve _can’t even find him._ He sniffs quietly, hides his face in his arms which rest on bent knees, hides his tears from Stark, because Steve is supposed to be the unbreakable one. The immovable object. If he breaks down, then what does that mean for the rest of them? A sob sneaks out anyway.

“Hey, Cap, it’s alright,” Tony is saying, and then he’s closing the distance between them plopping down right next to Steve, who regards him with a closed, wary and damp, expression from within the protective confines of his arms. “Come here, big guy, hug time.”

It just makes Steve cry harder. Tony wraps his arms around his broad form and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, powerhouse, we’ll find him,” Tony murmurs. All Steve can do is clutch at one of the man’s arms, cry pathetically, and feel thankful that he has such amazing friends.

The next day, Sam sends him a message, wondering where the hell the fifty million dollars sitting in his bank account had come from.

 

 


End file.
